


The Storm Outside Our Door

by speckledhound



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Fluff, Gen, Getting Lost, snuggling in a cab, thunderstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:12:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledhound/pseuds/speckledhound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out on a case, a thunderstorm hits and Sherlock, John and Lestrade are forced to seek out shelter. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storm Outside Our Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwisterMelody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisterMelody/gifts).



> Written for my friend Amber's birthday, following in a new tradition that started when I wrote my first fan work a year ago for her last birthday. I hope you all enjoy.

“Sherlock,” John sputtered in exasperation, walking back to where he had stopped to flip through contacts on his phone.

“Sherlock, its pouring, come on, let’s- let’s get a move on, please, come on, I want to get out of this rain.”  John stood with his mouth agape, utterly amazed at how Sherlock seemed to not hear him, the heavy droplets plastering his hair to his head and soaking his coat. “Sherlock,” he said again, his voice coming out in little more than a pleading whine. He cared about the man to death, but sometimes his behavior got ridiculous.

The two had been looking into a case with Lestrade, and John could see him coming up the block now, holding a folder up to the top of his head as a makeshift umbrella of sorts, although he too was drenched.

“Do either of you know where we are?”

John shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing up at the sky only to see the clouds had darkened by now, a full-on storm imminent.

“Sherlock?”

The detective’s attention was finally taken hold of, his head turning to look at them, eyes tired and he as a whole being mostly unresponsive to the wet and cold.

“Hm, I have to find out which of these is Mr. Walker’s daughter, I’m close now. This is so obvious it can’t even be considered a deducation,  look, see, this one, Chelsea, she has a rather mediocre photograph as a beach as her profile photo, and we know Mr. Walker had just returned from and was fond of-”

“Sherlock,” John seethed as a phone was thrust in his face, Sherlock stumbling backward with the force of his push.

“John, I’m only trying to find a murderer, someone who killed people, isn’t that- worth standing in the rain for?”

John laughed in disbelief, it wasn’t the rain getting on his nerves, not entirely. This git had the nerves to accuse him of not caring about their work when it was Sherlock who caused most of his problems.

“Boys, please, not here,” sighed Lestrade, not sounding unlike John when Sherlock took to having childish disputes with his brother. “Listen, the two of you, John’s right, Sherlock, you...we've narrowed it down to the two girls, I can call down to the yard to have them brought in, they’ll be there in the morning, how about we quit for the night and find somewhere to get dry, alright?”

Sherlock looked from John to Lestrade a number of times before putting his phone into his pocket and starting to put his gloves on before becoming uncomfortable at the feeling of water and leather slipping onto his hands.

They were far past London now, and not even Sherlock recognized the particular part of town they were in now. There were little shops and it certainly was not an empty place, but most everyone had retreated inside, for obvious reasons, as the seemingly-close sound of thunder rang out in the evening, booming in their ears, the rain falling down harder.

“Ugh, Sherlock, come on,” John yanked on the other man’s arm, pulling him stumbling down the street. Lestrade watched for a moment, chuckling before he followed the pair of them under the large awning of a rather extensive inn.

Sherlock rubbed fat water droplets out of his eyes and shook the bottom of his coat, John backing off as smaller drops flew at his feet. The three of them looked up as the door to the inn was opened and the head of a young man popped out, squinting at them.

“You looking to get away from the rain?”

“Er- yes, but not to stay the night, we’ll take a cab, we just want to get dry for a while,” John replied.

“Alright, come in, then, you can wait in the front for a while if you like, but no sleepin’ in the chairs, otherwise we’ll move you to rooms ‘n you’ll have to pay, alright? I’m bein’ nice, its nasty out there.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said stiffly, and followed the man into the building, John and Lestrade close behind.

It was a rather pitiful inn, Sherlock thought, not very well cleaned or frequented, but they weren’t staying, so he would have to put his displeasure out of his mind for now. John was obviously riled by something he had done, he wasn’t quite sure what. Sherlock stole a glance at him, looking away awkwardly as John bent over slightly to check the softness of the sofa cushions by the fireplace. Lestrade moved past them both (smirking at Sherlock, which left the normally composed detective momentarily bewildered; he caught every look between the two of them) and took a seat by the warm flames.

“Sit down, boys, your coats aren’t going to dry by themselves.”

Sherlock took off his own, setting it down on a chair closer to the fireplace, and then sat down, ruffling his drying hair. John couldn’t help but laugh at this act of human preening, but it came out as more of a scoff, and Sherlock folded his hands neatly in his lap and sat back into the sofa silently.

John rested his chin on his hand and sighed, leaning back and wanting to start up conversation every couple of minutes before realizing he’d snapped at Sherlock, and he wasn’t going to be soft so easily. He noticed Sherlock wasn’t using his phone either, most likely because he knew if John saw he was thinking about the case again he would become even more annoyed. Greg remained across from them, occupying himself with a free local newspaper and skimming a section about  a recent football match.

Minutes passed, a small number of people came and went in the makeshift lobby, and Lestrade looked to his dysfunctional companions.

John was sleeping, for how long, Lestrade hadn’t noticed. His head was angled up to the ceiling and noisy snores were coming from his mouth, which was open wide. Next to him on the couch, Sherlock was looking quite drowsy, his head propped up on his hand, eyelids flickering. He wasn’t but a couple of inches away from John, their legs positioned in a way so that their shoes were touching.

Lestrade smirked. Again. These two would keep him smirking for many a year, hopefully.

Very quietly so as not to disturb them, he got up and checked on their coats, which by now had fully dried and were even radiating a nice heat they had gained from being so close to the fireplace. They themselves were free from showing evidence of being out in the thunderstorm too long, too (although Sherlock’s hair had dried and become a tangled, mussed up mess)  so he changed his mind and decided it was late enough in the night for them to plan on heading to their respective flats.

“Come on you two, up, up.” He only had to prod Sherlock gently to cause him to stir, but for John a modest push was necessary.  “Come on, let’s be off, then, shall we? I’ll call for a cab.”

Sherlock murmured in agreement and immediately scanned for the location of his coat with his eyes, grabbing for it clumsily and handing John his much lighter one. John mumbled his thanks and grabbed Sherlock’s arm to maintain balance.

Lestrade stared. It occurred to them he’d never witnessed neither Sherlock nor John drunk on sleep, a situation that was already promising to be endlessly amusing. The pair stood up straighter, mirroring one another in fixing their scarves. John thanked the young man at the counter before the three o them made their way out onto the pavement.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

The thunderstorm was still coming at them in full force, although luckily the cab Lestrade had called pulled up just in time and they were able to rush inside, the grumbling detective inspector holding the door open.

Inside the cab it was cramped, three grown men forced into the backseat, the rain battering at the windows, sleep still gnawing at all of them. John’s body spasmed in a shiver and a yawn, only thinking of his desire for comfort and who his tired self believed could best give it to him, nestled his head onto Sherlock’s shoulder.

Seated at Sherlock’s left, Lestrade looked on in surprise as he removed his coat with difficulty, placing it on John like a blanket.

“Here, John. It’ll keep you warm.”

“Hmhm. Thanks, Sherlock.”

Although it was dark, Lestrade still saw the adoration shining in Sherlock’s eyes, and his heart warmed even more at the sight of John receiving a quick gentle kiss on the forehead.

“We heading back to Baker Street?” Asked a sleepy John.

“Yes, John, back to Baker Street.”  If Sherlock had not avoided eye contact with him so deliberately, Lestrade would have rewarded him with a grin and a nod. But he started to doze off instead, the only movements coming from either Sherlock or John being the little jumps that came from the puttering along of the old cab. Midway through their drive back into London (a costly one, at that) Sherlock snapped out of his weary daze and caught his coat from slipping down from John, tucking it back over the both of them and snuggling into John’s touch.

He had his head resting against John's forehead, and nuzzled it gently with a quiet sigh. John and he both knew that any number of useless disputes would not matter; in the end, it was the two of them that did.

“Took you two long enough,” came Lestrade’s voice through the sound of wheels on pavement, and Sherlock's eyelids barely flickered in the direction of his voice, moving his arm so that it was around John's shoulders. 

Sherlock let sleep take him, then, and did not wake until they reached their destination, finding comfort with John Watson despite the storms outside the door.


End file.
